Worst Possible Timing
by Dunyazade
Summary: Maxima captures Clark. Clark calls Bruce for help. And that's just the beginning.
1. Better than Money

Worst Possible Timing

_Author's Note/Disclaimer: They're not mine, and they're not gay. But sometimes they do talk on the phone. This will be three chapters long, and a little naughtier than most of my not-slash stories. Important note: in this story, Lois and Clark are married._

* * *

Chapter 1: Better than Money

_Honesta fama melior pecunia est. --_Publilius Syrus

Fuzzy bathrobe.

Slippers.

Bruce Wayne was standing in the middle of his bathroom. He'd been stalking towards a cold shower, when a sudden onslaught of confusion had stopped him in his tracks.

There was only one thing to do.

"Alfreeeed?!"

The unflappable butler stuck his balding head and his disinterested expression around the corner. "Yes sir?"

Bruce blinked a few times. "…I almost don't want to ask. Why is there a _sheet_ over the bathtub?"

"Well, since you never _use_ the bathtub, sir, and I _was_ getting tired of dusting it…"

Bruce gave him a blank look. "You actually _dust_ my _bathtub_?"

"_Routinely_, Master Bruce," Alfred proclaimed with stoic pride, as if he might have to duel anyone who dared suggest otherwise.

Bruce sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He squinted at the sinister white sheet, beneath which any number of anything could be hiding in the enormous tub, and then looked back at his butler.

Alfred raised his eyebrows just a fraction of a centimeter. "…Of course, if you _were_ to use the bathtub once in a while, I wouldn't have to dust it so often. _Or _cover it with a sheet."

The confusion evaporated, replaced by piercing comprehension. "Hmm." Bruce actually smiled a little bit. "Alright, Alfred, I get the hint. I'll take a nice hot relaxing bath today instead of a cold shower."

Alfred's eyebrows sagged a little in relief; from him that was the equivalent of a beaming smile. "Very good_,_ sir. It'll do wonders for you."

"No doubt." Bruce turned his back and began to shrug out of his bathrobe, and Alfred gave him a little nod and vanished.

Moments later, the tub was filling, and Bruce was easing himself into it. The water was painfully hot, and would stay that way thanks to the temperature control system. He needed it to be hot, needed it to infuse each of his knotted muscles with debilitating, overpowering heat in order to justify the somewhat frivolous departure from his normal routine.

It was part of his mission now, to soak his aches into oblivion. And even though he hadn't been planning on it, as the water rose he found himself genuinely looking forward to the experience.

It was a very, very nice tub. As if he were running through a preflight checklist for his Batplane, he checked the functions of the tub's control panel. The massage jets had a dozen settings. There were another dozen choices for automatically-dispensed soap, fragrances, and even colors. There was the option for a bubble bath. An Epsom salt bath. A lavender bath. An oatmeal bath. A eucalyptus bath.

Wryly he wondered where the button was to soak himself in espresso. Then he found it.

It was one of those moments when even Bruce Wayne was amazed at what money could buy. Shaking off the phantom of dissatisfaction he felt whenever confronted by an unnecessary reminder of his wealth, he decided to ignore the control panel. All he wanted was plain old water in the tub anyway.

At last the tub was full, and Bruce sank into it up to his neck, reveling in the stinging, cathartic release of histamine from his skin. For an instant he was back in Japan, fifteen years previously, submerging himself in water that was unbearably scalding, in legendary hot springs that relaxed you by nearly killing you.

It felt wonderful.

The heat was working its way into his back, and all the pain he'd ignored and denied was gradually, persistently being taken away from him. He closed his eyes and just _felt_ it. It felt good. It felt so good he almost _hated_ it.

Somewhere far away, he heard Alfred clear his throat.

"_A-hum_. Master Bruce?"

Master Bruce managed a vague grunt of acknowledgement. He only cracked open his eyes when it became evident that Alfred was standing in the middle of the bathroom.

"Telephone for you, sir," Alfred announced. He was carrying a tray with a cell phone, a glass, and a sweating silver pitcher of ice water. These three things he placed neatly at the edge of the tub. Ice cubes clinked musically against the glass as Alfred filled it from the pitcher. "I wouldn't have bothered you, but it sounds frightfully urgent."

"-t's fine," Bruce muttered, groping sluggishly for the phone. Alfred put it into his reddened hand and then straightened up.

"Anything else, sir?"

"Nh," Bruce indicated, and Alfred stepped out. Bruce pressed the phone to his ear. Managed to force his voice out of his throat. "Bruce Wayne," he said neutrally.

"Bruce, it's me. I need your help."

Clark's voice. Desperation masked by resolve.

Bruce closed his eyes. "With what?" he asked gruffly. He really was not in the mood to deal with Clark right now.

"I've been taken prisoner. I'm locked up in an Almeraci hunting ship and they're taking me back to Almerac—back to their queen."

Bruce wasn't amused, but as the heat of the water physically prevented his blood pressure from rising, he was incapable of much of the angry reaction that he ought to have felt at having one of Clark's super-absurd intergalactic adventures interrupt his bath. He took a sip of the ice water that Alfred had left for him.

"…And?"

"…look, Bruce, this is difficult to explain. It's _Maxima_. She's after me again."

Bruce knew who she was, of course. The Warrior Queen of Almerac, Maxima had kidnapped Superman once before, intending to marry him.

"You escaped from her just fine on your own last time," Bruce reminded him.

"This is different. This time she's got a team of the universe's deadliest bounty hunters assigned to me, led by Lobo."

"Lobo." Bruce deadpanned. The idea of the lawless last Czarnian operating with any sort of team, much less _leading_ one, was beyond laughable.

"Yeah. You see, Maxima convinced him to marry her, and from what I understand the two of them got along all right for a while, but when she found out about his tendency to kill his offspring, she castrated him."

Bruce took another sip of water, wondering if Clark was ever going to get to the point.

"The strange thing is, instead of swearing revenge or just destroying her entire civilization, Lobo apparently _fell in love_ with her at that point and decided to be her faithful slave, at least until his _whatever_ grows back. In the meantime, Maxima gave Lobo the mission of capturing _me_."

"Let me guess," Bruce rumbled. "With Lobo out of the question for siring an heir to the Almeraci throne, Maxima wants you for the job instead."

"Yes," Clark said right away, with more relief than surprise that Bruce had figured it out so quickly.

Bruce switched the phone to his other ear. There was only so much of this nonsense that one ear could handle. "…And?" he demanded again, when Clark fell awkwardly silent.

Clark sighed. "Listen, I didn't want to call you, but the stakes are pretty high here. Based on my _non-compliance_ in the past, this time she isn't messing around. If I fail to satisfy her, she'll turn Lobo loose on a rampage against Earth. So I'm calling for some advice."

"_Advice?_"

"Well, maybe more like _instructions_. I need to know exactly how you sidestep a woman who wants to sleep with you without hurting her feelings or making her angry. I've got to be able to control what she thinks, sort of, I don't know—there has to be a way to use her, her _lasciviousness_ to manipulate her. I figured you would know how to do it."

Bruce stared up at the ceiling for a minute, expressionless. And then what Clark had just asked him sunk in, and his mouth twisted into a scowl. "_What?_" he barked into the phone, raising his voice. "Are you asking me how to lie to her?"

"I'm sorry, Bruce, but I think that's what it's going to come down to. I can't run away this time and I can't just say no. I don't like either option, but I'm either going to have to lie _to_ her or lie with her."

"Ugh, Clark, sleeping with her won't kill you and you _know_ that Lois will forgive you."

"It's not that simple. With the risk of impregnating her--"

"Yes, it _is _that simple. And if you're so terrified of fathering children, then why don't you just x-ray your own balls and _sterilize_ yourself?"

"…I…I never thought of that," Clark said with a little too much amazement in his voice. But then his tone turned serious, and Bruce could hear his worried expression through the phone. "But anyway, I'm not sure that would work. And it's beside the point. I'm completely out of my element here and I don't know what I'm going to do."

Bruce rolled over onto his stomach in the water and draped both his arms over the edge of the tub to cool off a bit. He was rapidly losing his patience. "I'm only going to tell you this once," he growled. "There is no magic answer for how to deal with lustful women. You just have to figure it out. I can't help you."

"But you deal with women like that all the time! Your 'date of the day' is the gossip of the nation. You know everything there is to _know_ about handling women who want to sleep with you-- good grief, Bruce, the girls at the _Planet_ keep a tally of your conquests!"

Bruce's expression darkened. "My _reputation_ is useful to me. But you know how much gossip gets exaggerated. I haven't _slept_ with that many people."

Outside the bathroom, Alfred had just gotten started on the weekly task of vacuuming the master bedroom. He hadn't overheard much of Bruce's conversation, but just as he began to vacuum under the bed, the vacuum got stuck on something and Alfred had to turn it off.

Consequently, he overheard that last bit of what Master Bruce was saying just as he was inspecting the disgruntled vacuum to see what the problem was.

It was a pair of hot-pink panties.

Alfred quirked an eyebrow, briefly recalling the brassiere of matching color that he'd discovered in the garden earlier that week, and disentangled the unfortunate undergarment from the vacuum.

"Sex isn't important to me," Bruce's voice declared from the bathroom. "I don't even _like_ it."

Steeling his nerves, Alfred got down on his hands and knees and looked beneath the bed. With a barely audible sigh, he retrieved a skimpy pair of black panties, a sexy pair of red panties, and a pair of white Chantilly lace panties in short order. He _would_ have to antagonize Master Bruce over this later.

Meanwhile, the phone conversation hadn't missed a beat. "I won't like it either," Clark said. "Not with Maxima, anyway. And don't get me wrong, she's…attractive and the fact that I wouldn't even have to be _careful_ with her is appealing in its own kind of disturbing way, but…"

Bruce rubbed his hand over his eyes, giving in. "…She's not Lois."

"She's not Lois," Clark echoed. "So it just wouldn't be right. And I will _not_ risk fathering her child."

Bruce sighed. Was he really going to humor Clark's old-fashioned and suddenly earth-threatening moral code?

Yes, he was.

"All right," he said, finally buckling down to give Clark the 'advice-maybe-more-like-instructions' that he needed. "So you're not going to sleep with her. But you are _not_ going to tell her that, even if she asks you a direct question."

"Okay," Clark said enthusiastically. "Evade direct questions. Got it."

"She'll probably want to play around with you first. If she senses that you're reluctant or holding back, she'll get angry. So be aggressive. Convince her that you're going to outdo anything Lobo ever did to her."

"Be aggressive," Clark recited. "Okay." Bruce couldn't help but note that he already sounded unconvinced. He scowled.

"Aggression is paramount. If you get into a fight, dominate the fight. And don't let it end in a truce or by a narrow margin of victory. Be sure to _win. Overtly_. But remember to _flirt _with her the entire time. If she stops having fun, she'll get angry. So you have to keep her engaged and flattered and excited. Tease her. Let her know that your focus is on _her_. Let her think that you're anticipating having sex with her as much as she is."

"That's going to be difficult," Clark confessed, and then he was silent for half a second too long. "…what if it doesn't work?"

Bruce closed his eyes. "Then you'll do what you do best. You'll be honest with her. Just pretend you have your _glasses_ on, and tell her how you feel and how nothing in this or any other world is going to change your mind."

"Huh," Clark replied. "You know, it's funny you should mention my glasses. They ambushed me at the office, and the para-teleporter they zapped me with vaporized everything I was wearing _except_ my glasses. Isn't that crazy?"

Bruce was quite stationary in the water, but his sudden suspicion that the god of irony was having a laugh at their expense filled him with a sinking feeling. The image of Clark wearing nothing but his glasses was not one that Bruce had any inclination of processing at the moment. He felt his pulse tap at his temples. Maybe the water was a little too hot after all.

"--uh oh, Bruce, I think I'm out of time. The guard's coming back. Thanks for the help." The line clicked dead.

Scowling, Bruce set the phone down on the edge of the tub, and glared at the opposite wall of his bathroom in abject anger at the universe in general. Having to think about Clark's predicament had just ruined his afternoon. It was safe to say that he wasn't enjoying his bath anymore.

Originally, all he'd intended to do was take a cold shower. What on earth had possessed him to deviate from his routine?

That's right—Alfred. This was Alfred's fault. Alfred's fault for harassing him about never using his preposterously luxurious bathtub. Alfred's fault for bringing him the phone when Clark called.

Clark's fault for calling.

Clark's fault for being captured to be Maxima's substitute for Lobo's _whatever_.

Yuck!!!

Alfred had just put away the vacuum in the master bedroom when he heard the shower turn on. He shook his head in disapproval.

Master Bruce had only been in the tub for ten minutes. He never _would_ learn how to relax.

…to be continued!


	2. Soft as Steel

Chapter 2: Soft as Steel

_A woman should soften but not weaken a man._ --Sigmund Freud

The first time Clark had been transported to Almerac, Maxima had dragged his unconscious body along the streets of the capitol city by his cape.

This second time, he was teleported directly into Maxima's throne room. He was still trapped in the transparent 'cell' they'd held him in on the ship—it was an ingenious prison, formed of a spherical, dimension-bending portal. When Clark attempted to stick his hand through it, his hand re-entered the sphere at the antipode of its exit point. Initially he'd been fascinated by the fact that if he stood in the center and reached straight above his head, he could grab his own foot. This simultaneously felt like he was grabbing the foot of an unseen person above him, and that his own foot was being grabbed by an unseen person reaching up through the floor.

After about the first hour of hyperspace travel, the novelty of the portal-cell had worn off, and Clark had more or less accepted that he wasn't going to be able to escape from it.

Now Maxima was striding towards him, her golden cloak billowing out behind her, crimson-copper hair glinting fiercely beneath a golden headdress.

Clark took a breath as she approached.

"Maxima, this isn't--"

She showed him her palm, not looking at him. "Silence!"

Clark felt like his words had been stuffed back down his throat as his lips were psionically sealed shut.

Maxima strode right past him to confront the guards who had accompanied him. Before either of them could react, she drew her sword, loosed a fearsome battle cry, and lopped off both their heads.

"_Mmmnn!_" Clark tried to shout in protest. But the warrior queen was already undoing her work. The blood flew back into the open necks, the heads floated back through the air and settled into place, and the fatal slashes sealed shut with a glow of golden light.

Five seconds after they'd been decapitated, both of the guards were on their knees, wheezing for breath, hands clutching their freshly-healed throats.

"How _dare_ you bring him before me in _disgrace?_" she seethed, pointing back at Clark. "You filthy thieves, undressing him was to be MY right and mine alone!"

"But… your Majesty…" one of the guards panted. "We didn't--"

"Be thankful that I _spare_ your wretched lives," Maxima declared. "And _begone!_"

The guards looked at each other, and bolted for the door.

Maxima put away her sword, and pivoted on the frighteningly tall heels of her boots.

Clark swallowed.

"You may speak now," Maxima told him.

"—_gah_," Clark gasped, finding his voice released. "You…you've become more powerful since the last time we met."

Her eyes changed color, from brown to amber, as she smiled. "I was a mere _girl_ the last time we met, Kal-El. Now I am the true Queen of Almerac. My authority over this world is supreme. Now then: I do not wish to insult you further by keeping you unclothed. My slaves were not aware of the Kryptonian cultural aversion to uncovered flesh." She looked him over from head to toe, skillfully measuring, and with a snap of her fingers Clark felt silky fabric knit itself across his skin. An instant later, he was fully dressed—in the red-and-gold raiment of Kryptonian royalty.

The portal-cell vanished with a dismissive wave of Maxima's hand. "There," she said, clearly satisfied with her work. "Now you are as you should be."

Clark sighed. "Maxima. Thanks for the clothes, but I should be home with my _wife_, not here with you."

She turned her back on him, her shoulders tense. "You know I _can_ control your mind, if you become… uncooperative," she said after a moment.

"Yes, you could… but would you?" Clark asked, making it as gentle a challenge as possible.

She spun around again, and her eyes had darkened to burnt orange. "Let's hope we don't have to find out. Do not forget that the fate of your Earth hangs in the balance. Resist me out of loyalty to your human mate, and you will never see her again."

Sensing that he probably wasn't going to win the argument at that point, Clark decided to back down. "All right," he said, hoping to calm her. "I understand that. They explained it to me on the ship."

In response to his apparent acceptance of defeat, the harshness faded from Maxima's expression. "I know you don't want to be here, Kal-El, but it won't be as horrible as you think. We are supremely compatible. And we will be _honoring_ our heritage, you and I."

The warrior queen's voice turned wistful. "Our civilizations shared such powerful history, once. My mother used to tell me there would never again be a race of men as glorious or noble as yours. That's why I am sure I've made the right choice. For the future of Almerac."

She stepped in, closer, her feet poised like a dancer, and reached for his face. Clark didn't remember that he was still wearing his glasses until she was ever-so-delicately pulling them away from him.

"These lenses you wear," she mused, suddenly changing the subject. "I don't understand how they _disguise _you." On a royal whim, she put the glasses on, and was instantly transformed into the most dangerous-looking fantasy of a red-haired librarian. "After all, the _point_ is that you can _see through_ them, is it not?"

Clark couldn't help but smile a little. "I can see through them, yes. But from the other side of them, looking _in_, sometimes other people can't. Sometimes they can only see what they expect."

She blinked. "And what do they _expect_, when they see you wearing these?"

Clark searched for as brief an explanation as possible. "Well…for starters, on Earth, only people with weak eyes wear them."

Maxima looked as if Clark had just revealed the most precious secret in the universe. "How ingenious," she exclaimed, taking the glasses off and staring at them in wonder. "Their '_Superman_' would never pretend to have _weak eyes._"

From anyone else, that would have almost definitely been a sarcastic comment. But Clark got the distinctly uncomfortable impression that her reaction was completely genuine.

Sensing but misinterpreting Clark's discomfort, Maxima suddenly looked worried. "That is… you don't _actually_ have weak eyes, do you?"

"Um, no," Clark admitted, slightly confused by her concern.

"Of _course_ you don't," she purred right away, as her own eyes became rather sly-looking. As she had tried on the glasses her eyes had reverted to their standard chestnut brown, but now they were swirling past amber and heading right on to gold, reflecting her excitement.

"I am suddenly impatient," Maxima announced, and grabbed Clark's wrist. "Come with me."

* * *

Later that night, several galaxies away, Bruce's cell phone rang again. He picked it up, noted the number, and answered it.

"Lois."

"Hi Bruce." No stress in her voice, not yet—just the barest hint of curiosity. "Hey, I have a quick question for you."

"Go ahead."

"…Any chance you've heard from Clark today? He literally disappeared from the office and hasn't come home yet."

Bruce heaved a silent sigh. "He called me this afternoon," he related.

"Oh, good," Lois said, her tone revealing that she _had_ been slightly worried after all.

"He told me he's been kidnapped and transported off-world by intergalactic bounty hunters," Bruce informed her. He could almost hear her roll her eyes through the phone.

"Intergalactic bounty hunters, eh? Well, I'm not surprised. He actually missed dinner tonight—and he'd never do that without _at least_ being kidnapped by intergalactic bounty hunters. Did he say where they're taking him?"

"Almerac."

"_Almerac?_" she repeated, her tone instantly turning dangerous. "Ugh, that must mean _Maxima_ is after him again."

"Yes," Bruce confirmed.

"So… why'd he call _you_? Does he expect you to go _rescue_ him or something?"

Bruce frowned into the phone. "It sounded like he only had time for one call, and he needed advice about how to handle Maxima."

Lois '_hmm_'ed into the phone, exasperated. "Look, I'm sorry to bother you, but do you have the number that he called from? Because I would really _love_ to try and call him back."

Bruce quirked an eyebrow. He hadn't thought about checking the number. Granted, he'd quite deliberately stopped thinking about the entire incident, but still. He probably should have checked the number.

"Hang on," he said, and looked at his register of incoming calls. He quirked his eyebrow again as he discovered that the number Clark had called from was approximately twelve thousand digits long. He really had to hand it to these new _Lextel_ phones—in retrospect, he supposed some of the technology used to create them had come from Brainiac.

He punched a few buttons and put the phone back to his ear. "I'm sending it to you now. I'm not sure if you'll be able to call it, though."

"Thanks," Lois said. "I'll give it a try and let you know how it turns out."

* * *

Elsewhere, aboard a certain Almeraci hunting ship, an extremely nervous young crewman was about to deliver some bad news to his Captain.

"Excuse me, Captain Lobo? Sir?"

"What the frack do you want, Scumswab?"

The young crewman winced. "Sir, I've got our communications bill here, sir."

"Frag the bill. Why the hork aren't we out of this fraggin' orbit yet? I thought I told those bastiches to get us underway."

"Yes sir, you did tell them that, sir, but…" he squeezed his eyes shut, bowed his head, and held up the bill with trembling hands. "…we won't receive clearance to depart this orbit until we pay our bill, sir!"

"Give me that," Lobo grumbled, snatching the bill from his subordinate. He looked at it. Blinked. And looked at it again.

The farthest corners of the ship vibrated a little, resonating with his exclamation: "_WHAT THE FRACK!_"

Back on the main deck, the helpless crewman had fallen to his knees in fear.

"Scumswab!" Lobo hollered at him.

"Yes sir?" he whimpered.

"Who's the fraggin' bastich who ran up a sixteen billion-pingal communi-fraggin'-cations bill?"

"Sir, I don't know sir!"

"Well you sure as hork better _find the frack out!_"

"Right away sir!" the crewman saluted and fled.

Moments later, he grabbed the ship's communications officer by the collar, panting for breath.

"What's the matter?" the comm officer demanded.

"It's the captain," the crewman gasped. "He's upset. He wants to know who's responsible for the bill."

The comm officer blanched. "But I have no way of knowing! It could have been anyone!" he pulled up a couple of screens and began tapping them, producing various charts and graphs. "Believe me, I've been trying to narrow it down. This is the call they're charging us for— But see here? And here? It just says, 'unknown.' It went out over an open hyper-relative line."

"What would it take for us to find out who made that call?" the crewman pleaded.

The comm officer shook his head in despair. "A miracle."

Suddenly a little light on one of the screens started blinking, indicating an incoming call. A very, very _miraculous_ incoming call.

* * *

Lois bit her lip as the phone rang. And rang. And rang again. She glanced up at a picture framed on the wall over the desk. It was a photo of her and Clark. Kissing. Ocean. Honeymoon.

She felt a keen, lonely pang and refocused her attention on the ringing phone, annoyed at herself. This was no time to be pining away in romantic nostalgia—for goodness sakes, he hadn't even been gone for an entire day yet!

"Heh… Hello?"

Lois narrowed her eyes. The voice was strange. Probably an alien—but definitely not _her_ alien. "Who is this?" she asked.

"…This is Her Majesty's vessel _Spleenwrencher_," came the wavering response. Lois tapped her finger on the desk. Whoever was on the other end sounded absolutely terrified.

_Patience_, she told herself, and sure enough, it paid off. "…Ah, hello?" the strange voice asked again, even more nervous-sounding than before.

Lois decided to go with a terse tone rather than a sympathetic one. Presumably, these were the people who had kidnapped her husband. "…I'm still here. "

"…yes… good… ah… may we ask who is calling, please, uh, _ma'am_?"

Lois thought fast. She was obviously dealing with minions here. Minions who were currently serving under Maxima's matriarchy. _Male_ minions currently conditioned to accept _female_ reign. It was a risk, but she decided to take it.

"This is the Empress," she declared in her most imperial voice.

"Oh, uh, yes ma'am, of course," the terrified voice said. "But, um, I'm sorry ma'am… we uh, we're having some trouble with our communications equipment and your transmission registration isn't, uh, showing up here, so,"

"I don't have time for this," Lois warned.

"Wait! Please don't hang up ma'am!"

"_What?_" Her tone left no doubt that she was appalled by such an audacious request.

"_Just ask her!"_ begged a voice in the background_. "It's our only chance!"_

Lois smirked. "Ask me what?" she demanded.

"Ma'am, if it pleases the Empress, ma'am, save the lives of your humble servants! We have one question…"

"Ask it," Lois commanded, letting just a bit of royal benevolence seep into her voice.

"Yes ma'am. Um, our question is, do you know who activated this comm line earlier? To make a hyper-relative call from somewhere on our ship?"

This was very interesting. Lois frowned and started tapping her finger on her desk again. "Of course," she said, and then wasted no time taking advantage of their relief. "But I sense that you have some dire need for that information. And so I will not give it to you unless you _swear_ to me, that no matter what the peril, you will let me speak with that person after I give you their name."

"We swear!" the voice said, sounding like it was about to burst into tears. "Oh, Empress, we swear it! Just tell us who it was, ma'am!"

"I'm not accustomed to trusting the oaths of the desperate," Lois warned them, surprising herself by just how much she was getting into this 'Empress' role. "Swear to me by—" She thought fast. What was it that aliens cared about? She looked around. Desk. Newspaper. Daily Planet. "—your planet," she declared. "Swear to me, by the fate of your homeworld, that you will not fail to get this certain person on the line."

"We swear," the minion repeated, more solemnly this time. "By the planet Nurdge, may she prosper eternally, we swear."

No matter how many unbelievable things she encountered as the wife of the world's greatest superhero, there were still moments when she half expected a TV show camera crew to come popping out of the closet to tell her it was all some kind of joke. And this was one of those moments. Silently she counted to three, and when the camera crew didn't appear, she sighed.

"Very well," the Empress said gravely into the phone. "As you are probably aware, your vessel was recently sent on an errand by an old acquaintance of mine, Queen Maxima of Almerac."

"Yes ma'am," the minion reported faithfully.

"Earlier today, operatives from your vessel captured Kal-El of Krypton, also known as _Superman_ of the planet Earth, and he's the one who made the call." She paused, took a quick breath, and made sure that her voice stayed steady. "Now. No matter what it takes, you _will_ let me talk to him."

* * *

Meanwhile, Clark was feeling trapped. Flirting with her, teasing her, making her anticipate something that wasn't going to happen… there was no way he could manage any of that nonsense that Bruce had been talking about. Women like Maxima, usually villainesses, they flirted with Superman. They teased him. He didn't tease them back. It just wasn't in his character.

And now there was only one thought in his mind:

_Lois will kill me. _

Maxima was standing in front of him, or more accurately, _against_ him, her thighs pressing warmly against his. She was running her hands down his sides, her thumbs dragging slowly over each of his ribs. "What's wrong?" she half-whispered, and sucked just a little as she kissed his chin. As she pulled her lips away from him she tried to search his eyes, but he was looking absently at the wall behind her.

"Look at me," she commanded, and he did, his expression almost cold. "…Why won't you respond?"

"You can stand here and pet me all day, Maxima, and it's not going to make a difference," Clark answered. "Not a lot of people seem to realize this, but it's actually my greatest power."

"What are you talking about?" Maxima asked flatly.

"Self-control. It's an absolute necessity when your world's as fragile as mine."

Maxima narrowed her eyes. "So it is your _self-control_ which keeps you so _soft?_ Very well. That is easily overcome… I must merely _excite_ you enough."

She looked around the room once, and then tugged at his hands. "Come. Lie with me on the bed."

Clark had had some pretty strong misgivings about this entire scenario since the moment he'd been captured, but suddenly those negative feelings tripled in intensity. _Lois will kill me. _He felt his skin crawl as if he were about to start sweating. There had to be a logical, peaceable way out of all this, but what was it? When was the time to just say '_no_' and that be the end of it? If he refused her now, would she really make good on her threats?

He wasn't sure. He couldn't risk it._ Lois will kill me._

Maybe if he just stayed _disinterested_ long enough…

Maxima reclined across her mattress with a single motion of supreme seductive confidence that only the romanticized likes of Cleopatra could imitate. She beckoned once for Clark to join her, and he waited just long enough to see the first hint of anger creep into her face before doing so.

The bed was amazingly plush and instantly comfortable, in spite of everything. Before Clark could marvel too long at that fact, however, he felt Maxima's hands on his chest, sliding under his arms. And with no more effort than it would have taken to lift a pillow, she picked him up and repositioned him so that he was quite exactly on top of her.

Clark blushed—he was somewhat used to picking _Lois_ up and moving her around in bed in a similar fashion, but nobody had ever picked _him_ up and positioned him like that before. At least, not in anything remotely like this context.

Suddenly he was in trouble. The thought of Lois doing anything other than killing him had been the wrong thing to think about.

"That's better," Maxima murmured, settling into place beneath him. "Now… to break down these boundaries of yours… I think I must get you to do something that I _know_ you've never done with your 'fragile' human _wife_."

Clark tensed, immediately distrusting the direction of the conversation. But there was another stray thought of Lois. Maxima sensed his reaction through his expression, if not from his body. "Ah… do you like that?" she asked. "When I mention your wife? Is that what you need?"

"Maxima, please," Clark said, trying not to beg. "Leave Lois out of this."

"As you wish," she replied, but then smirked. "Although for her sake, I do hope her 'man of steel' isn't always this _weak_. Come now…I'm more than ready for you. Do that Kryptonian thing."

Clark blinked. She might as well have asked him to turn into a giant frog.

"…_What_ Kryptonian thing?"

She looked up at him, blushing excitedly. "Why, you dirty… you're going to make me spell it out, aren't you?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" Clark protested.

"With your _eyes_," she said, and took a deep breath. "Burn me."

"What!?"

Out of nowhere, she slapped him across the face. "Do _not_ disappoint me," Maxima warned, frowning. "I've waited long enough for you to gather your courage."

Completely at a loss, Clark focused on the hand that had just hit him, and zapped it with a quick blast of his heat vision.

"On the _hand?_" she mused. "How sweetly _chaste_ of you. But I want it. Here."

"In your eyes?" Clark asked in disbelief.

"Yes of course, in my _eyes_, you insolent boy. You don't know what you're doing? You've never wished to look into your wife's eyes when you take her to bed?"

"Not with heat vision!"

She bared her teeth at him, unconvinced. "Do it to me. Now."

Reluctantly, Clark obeyed, staring into her eyes and letting everything turn red. It wasn't long before Maxima began to arch her back, slowly moving between him and the mattress, seemingly caught up in the throes of some kind of ecstasy.

Clark began to worry. It was _ridiculous_ to think that his heat vision had some sexual function… wasn't it? He'd never even _considered_ such a thing. If he associated heat vision with any sort of _feeling_, it was rage, not romance. His heat vision definitely came a little more readily when he was angry. Sometimes, if he was angry enough, his eyes would burn almost spontaneously. But he'd never had the slightest inkling of a desire to use his heat vision on—

Suddenly he recalled his worst recurring nightmare: burning Lois to death. With his eyes.

The memory of those awful dreams was enough to turn the blazing red beams off faster than a switch.

"Why'd you stop?" Maxima gasped. She cupped his face with her hands. "_More!_"

He found his heart was beating a little faster. He tried to gather his thoughts. "Maxima, I don't like this," he said. "I… it isn't something I'm comfortable with."

"You're doing wonderfully," she breathed, pulling herself closer to him. "It's magnificent. Keep going. You _must_."

Clark fought past the ghost of his nightmares to summon his heat vision once again. He reasoned that pleasing Maxima this way was a better alternative than other things he could be doing to her. And she was really getting into it. Perhaps this would be enough for her—or at least enough to buy him a little more time to figure out how to convince her to let him go without impregnating her.

The burning light continued to sear into her eyes, as steady and as hot as Clark could manage without actually trying to kill her. "Oh—" she gasped, her body seizing up. "…_Almost!_"

Tears ran down her cheeks. Realizing what those tears were, Clark stopped again, horrified.

Maxima's nails dug into his shoulders. "What's the matter with you?" she demanded. "Don't you _feel_ it? Doesn't this arouse you?"

"No!" Clark exclaimed, in complete honesty. "Your eyes—they're bleeding!"

"Just a little. It doesn't concern me. Now do it again!"

"Maxima, I can't. It's hurting you."

"I love it," she declared, hooking her legs around both of his. "And I promise that you'll enjoy it as well—but you must push me a little farther first."

"_No_." He made a significant effort to escape from the vise of her legs, which failed as she reached up with one hand and grabbed him where his jaw joined his throat.

"This is your final chance before your actions become involuntary," she informed him. "_Choose_ to obey me, or I _will_ enslave your mind."

Clark looked at her, and realized with a sinking feeling that he was going to have to back down again. "…All right," he conceded.

She nodded, and let go of his neck, lying back in breathless expectation.

Now Clark was truly upset. Biting his lip, he let his eyes glow red and blaze into hers once more, and after only a handful of seconds Maxima was writhing beneath him.

Disturbed by how rapidly she was losing herself in whatever it was that she was feeling, Clark dared to turn up the intensity just a little—and it had an immediate result.

"_Yes_," she hissed, and within the red field of his vision, her eyes began to shine with their own hot, white-gold light—and suddenly she was projecting her own energy back at him, electrifying his entire body with her psionic power.

Instantly he felt a strange thrill—this was different, something he'd never felt before. He'd been blasted with various kinds of laser vision and energy beams from all sorts of eyes, but not like this. It wasn't painful, it was… like adrenaline, only _more_. Hotter. More urgent. And it was _personal_-- this was something _he_ had drawn out of her, something he'd provoked. And it was up to him to quell it, to overpower and defeat it.

He vaguely remembered Bruce's advice about dominating a fight, and realized that he had more energy than ever to devote to his heat vision. He let that energy go, streaming from his eyes, challenging her, and Maxima met that challenge more than ably.

"You feel it now, don't you?" she asked, as furious red and brilliant white light blazed between them.

"…Yes," Clark confessed in a breath, finding it nearly impossible to think or speak. So much for self-control—he felt like he'd gone crazy. There was more to be done, physically, than just staring her down. He'd never felt so wild, so out of control of his own libido. It was horrible—and he was suddenly aware that there was just one way to resolve it—

He was going to make love to her—he _had_ to.

And just as soon as he came to that realization, he heard Lois's voice behind him:

"…_Clark?!_"

...to be continued!

* * *

_Author's note: Buwah hah hah ha, this is so much fun. Poor Clark. For all you readers out there, I sincerely apologize. I know I probably really disturbed some of you with all of this. This is just proof that I'm a freak, I guess-- but I laughed so much writing this, I can't help but be proud of myself, even if Clark probably hates me now. hee hee hee... Also, this is going to be four chapters now, instead of three. Sorry for the long wait, too-- I haven't had time to get on the internet in weeks. Can you believe it's almost Christmas?? Man, I can't wait to read the new DCU holiday special! I hope it's a good one..._


	3. War and Love

Chapter 3: War and Love

_Marriage is an adventure, like going to war._ –G.K. Chesterton

"…_Clark?!_"

The voice came from a small metallic courier drone, which had zoomed into the room unnoticed and was now hovering at the foot of the bed.

The utterance of that one monosyllabic name from the drone's speaker caused several drastic events to occur in short order: firstly, Clark forgot what he was doing but also forgot to turn off his heat vision, which resulted in half of the bedding and part of the wall catching fire, while, at the same time, Maxima failed to realize that she had lost Clark's attention, which resulted in some of her own fiercely-projected energy beams hitting the side of his head rather than his eyes, which brought about his immediate loss of consciousness.

With an unconscious Kryptonian draped over her and her blankets on fire all around her, Maxima loosed an infuriated battle cry and then took control of the situation. With a casual flick of her wrist she flung Clark's body across the room, where he crashed into a wall and crumpled to the floor, and with two snaps of her fingers she extinguished the rising flames and set the fabric to work mysteriously un-burning itself. And then, with both hands, she grabbed hold of the courier drone.

"Hello?" said an impatient woman's voice from the speaker. "Clark? Are you there?"

"I'm afraid 'Clark' can't come to the drone right now," Maxima declared, seething mad. "You are speaking to _Maxima_, _Queen_ of Almerac. And you have just interfered with some very important royal _business_."

Lois was not impressed. "Alright, Maxima, where is he? What have you done with my husband?"

"_Not much_, yet." Maxima informed her. "Once this _interruption_ is over, however, I will claim him as my mate."

"Sorry, but he's taken," Lois declared. "You can't have him."

Maxima's eyes instantly began to glow a very ominous orange. "Oh yes, I _can_."

Light-years away, in Metropolis, Lois's heart was beginning to pound. She was getting upset. But something told her that screaming insults and threats into the phone was probably not going to have much effect on her majesty the Warrior Queen.

Wait a minute—_Warrior_ Queen. What if she…

Lois got an idea. "All right. You've stolen my husband from me, and I know better than to just ask you to give him back."

"Provided that all goes well, you may _have_ him back once I am done with him," Maxima offered.

Lois fought back her enraged expression and spoke calmly. "…Once he's been _used_," she restated, and then took a breath dove ahead. "You have to realize how _dishonorable_ this is of you."

"This is for the future of Almerac," Maxima exclaimed. "I've scoured the galaxies for suitable mates. Heroes, champions, kings—_none_ of them good enough to sire my child. You speak of _dishonor?_ Ha! Every day that my womb remains cold brings dishonor upon my house and my people."

Lois bit her lip, and caught her reflection in a mirror across the room, and was glad that Maxima couldn't see her desperation. "Okay. So you're doing the best you can, as the ruler of Almerac. I'll buy that. But I still say, if you have any sense of _honor_, you would at least let there be an opportunity to _win_ him back, before you go on and 'claim' him."

"_Win?_" Maxima scoffed, as if she'd never heard anything more absurd. "And just what sort of _game_ would you stake your husband's fate upon? A match of wits? A game of common _chance?_"

"Not a game," Lois said sharply. "_Combat_."

Maxima fell silent.

"One on one," Lois clarified, careful to control her momentum. "Woman to woman."

"…Combat," Maxima repeated, clearly intrigued.

"Yes," Lois affirmed. "And if you lose, you'll swear to respect my bond with Clark from now on, and you'll find someone else to take as your mate." She held her breath, and could practically _hear _Maxima's smirk.

"It is an appealing proposition," the Warrior Queen mused. "And I _accept_. The battle will commence at dawn."

Maxima had been holding the courier drone in both hands for the entire conversation, and now she clasped her hands together, shattering the drone to bits.

The abrupt end to the call made Lois jump. She looked at her phone, and began to feel just a little bit…scared.

What had she just gotten herself into? What if something went wrong? And what was going on with Clark?

Well, there was no time to worry about any of that now.

She scrolled through the numbers saved on her phone. She had one more call to make...

* * *

Clark woke up and realized that his eyes were sore. He attempted to rub them, but found he could not, because he was tied to a post.

In the middle of a panic. No—a party.

Squinting through slightly blurry vision, he tried to make sense of his surroundings. He was outdoors, and judging from the murky mauve of the sky, it was just before dawn. There was music-- terrible clanging percussion and shrill tweets and buzzes, the combined effect of which rivaled a chorus of alarm clocks accompanied by a rambunctious toddler beating on pots and pans with a ladle. There were decorations—wreaths and garlands of red flowers, some of which were on fire, though they looked none the worse for wear for being so. There were crowds of revelers, shouting (singing?) and holding bottles and goblets of what must have been an intoxicating beverage.

And there was an entourage of dancing slave girls, whirling around him in costumes of red silk. He looked down, and noticed that his own outfit had been modified, and was now completely red, and there were several leis of those same red flowers draped around his neck. Of greater interest were the ropes securing him to the post—at first glance they appeared to be made of red silk as well, but closer inspection revealed a material of something shiny and metallic-black, peeking up through the pores of the fabric like a thousand microscopic reptilian eyes.

Clark tensed against his restraints and his fears were realized. Breaking free wouldn't be easy. Might not even be possible.

He looked up and cleared his throat.

"Uh, excuse me," he tried, addressing the girl who was dancing closest to him. She did a backflip, landed in a handstand, and danced away on her hands, legs gracefully bicycling in the air. "…Okay," Clark said, eyebrows raised in compliment to her gymnastic ability. He turned his attention to the next girl. "Miss? Excuse me—miss? Can you tell me what's go—"

His question was cut short as the girl leaned in and kissed him. Clark grimaced and waited until she was done massaging his lips with her own, and looked her in the eyes as she drew back. "What is this?" he demanded. But the girl merely smiled at him and danced away. "Hey!" Clark called after her. "Wait a minute!"

But she was gone, lost amidst the other dancers. Frustrated, Clark fidgeted for a moment, and was startled as another dancer came swooping towards him. "Hi there," he said, awkward, as he half-expected to be kissed again. Instead, the girl held up a crown of red flowers.

"Okay, this has gone far enough," Clark said, his eyes crossing a bit as he watched the girl settle the flowers on top of his head. "What's this all about? Where's Maxima?"

"She's preparing for the battle," the girl replied, seeming surprised that he didn't know.

Clark shook his head angrily, which caused the flower-crown to fall apart. "_What_ battle?" he demanded. Red petals fell from his shoulders and fluttered to the ground around him, and the girl pouted.

"Why'd you do that?" she asked, disappointed. "Those are phoenix flowers. I was about to light them on fire for you. Now I have to go make you another one." She spun away, red silk ribbons of her costume rippling through the air.

"Wait wait wait!" Clark called. She hesitated, and looked back at him. "Please. What battle were you talking about?"

"Against the Earth-woman," she informed him.

"Earth-woman?" Clark repeated, alarmed.

"Yeah… didn't you know? There's some Earth-woman who claims that Queen Maxima _stole_ you from her."

"Lois!"

"Oh, is that her name?" The girl asked, and then shrugged. "Well, whoever she is, she was crazy enough to challenge Maxima to one-on-one combat. At dawn."

On cue, the first sliver of sun breached the bloodied horizon. "No!" Clark yelled, as a deafening cheer rose from the assembled crowd of merrymakers.

Clark bent his head forward, straining against the ropes that held him. Lois was in danger. Maxima would hurt her. Maxima would kill her! He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth, and rallied every ounce of strength left in his body.

The ropes held.

But the post at his back shattered, and the coils loosened. Clark was free. Flying--

And there was Maxima—striding through the droves of her subjects, in gleaming golden armor with excessively spiky shoulder-guards, her hair wildly red in the light of the flaming flower-wreaths. She was wielding a sort of a wizard-staff with a ball of fire at the top of it. And she was _not_ going to fight Lois Lane, not if Clark had anything to say about it.

He put his feet out and landed right in front of her, impacting the ground with such force that several nearby buildings were dislodged from their foundations. He clenched his hands into fists, and Maxima quirked an eyebrow at him, impressed.

"Maxima. You can't do this," Clark said in a low and completely serious voice.

"Watch me," Maxima replied.

"She's only human!"

"So I _hope_ she brings plenty of _weapons_. This fight was _her_ idea, after all. I'm sure she'll come prepared."

"You're not going to hurt her," Clark said, warningly.

Maxima's eyes were like molten lava. "So much _fight _in your spirit, all of a sudden," she said fondly, and tapped her staff on the ground. "Could be troublesome."

Clark found that his feet were suddenly frozen in place. "Nhg!" he grunted, struggling. To his horror, the paralysis was already traveling up his legs. It felt like his muscles and bones were being filled with cement. "What did you do?!"

"You'll be fine," she assured him. "You'll just be… out of the way for a while."

"_No,_" Clark said, as his torso froze in place. He was quickly turning into a statue. Now his hands were tingling- going numb- freezing solid. He forced himself to stay calm. It was suddenly clear to him that there was only one thing he could do.

He could beg. "Maxima, listen to me. You _aren't _evil. I _know_ you aren't. So _please_ don't hurt her—" everything up to shoulders had frozen, and as the paralysis worked its way up his neck to his jaw, it became harder for him to speak. "—don't hurt Lois," he managed to plead. "Don't hurt my—"

And then he was frozen in place, suspended in time. Maxima stepped up to him and patted his cheek. And then she strode past him, into the strengthening glow of the sunrise.

* * *

The Earth-woman had arrived. She wore a hooded cloak of deep cobalt blue, which flagged out in the wind around her, and the only visible weapon she carried was a fearsome silver broadsword, whose hilt was in the form of a golden eagle, wings proudly spread.

Maxima narrowed her eyes at her opponent, looking her up and down. "I know you," she said thoughtfully. "You're Hippolyta's girl, from Themyscira. You're called Diana. Princess of the Amazons."

"I'm _Wonder Woman_," Wonder Woman said, in that certain way she'd always wanted to. She pulled back her hood, let her hair stream free in the wind. Her tiara glinted dangerously, un-intimidated by the spikes on Maxima's shoulders.

"I wasn't expecting you," Maxima said coolly, and her mind replayed her conversation with Lois Lane. _One on one. Woman to woman._ "I see," Maxima said, smiling. "That was clever of her. She never said she would fight me herself."

"Yes, it was, and no, she didn't," Diana affirmed, also smiling.

"So you're here to fight for another woman's man?"

"No, but _you_ are," Diana told her bluntly. "_I'm_ here because Clark and Lois are friends of mine."

"Hmm." Maxima whirled her staff in the air. "Let's find out how strong those bonds of friendship are."

Diana raised her sword over her shoulder, struck a pose. Her eyes were deadly blue.

"_Let's,_" she agreed, and the battle began.

Maxima dashed forward, battle cry rumbling from her chest, eyes flaring with white-gold light. Diana crossed her wrists in front of her face, anticipating the blast, and cleared her throat.

"I have to ask. Why Superman?"

The energy blast deflected, leveling dozens of distant trees and turning several nearby boulders to dust. Some of the deflected energy even shot back at Maxima herself, stopping her in midair and sending her somersaulting backwards.

She came to a halt, hovering. "Because. He's the best _man_ in the multiverse."

She tried again, hurtling down from above.

"He's a _good_ man, but there _are_ others," Diana stated, waiting till the last second before darting aside.

Maxima was quick enough to avoid crashing into the ground, but as Diana swung at her with her sword, she was forced to construct an energy shield to block the blow. The blade struck the shield, and a shockwave raced out from their feet, rippling the ground for a mile in every direction.

Maxima narrowed her eyes. "Superman is the _last_ of his line. Don't you think he _deserves_ to have descendants, to carry on his blood and his name?"

"Yes," Diana replied. "But he's not the only one. There are plenty of good men who are the _last_ of their family." She struck the shield again, cracking it. It was like breaking a jar of lightning—thrashing tendrils of gold and red energy flashed out of the broken shield, writhing through the air and across the ground, and catching the leveled trees in the distance on fire. Maxima's lip curled in annoyance. She pointed her staff at Diana.

A flash of white was all Diana saw, and suddenly she was hurtling through the air, probably at around mach 2, and then she was crashing into the side of a cliff. She came to a halt imbedded several dozen feet into the stone. She heard a deep crunch in the earth above her, like the sound of an ancient stone femur breaking, and half of the cliff crumbled away in front of her in a massive avalanche.

Diana got to her feet, straightened her tiara and took off.

Maxima met her in mid-air. Staff blocked sword. "Superman is noble and pure of heart," Maxima said. "He stands for justice."

"But he's _not _your only hope for a decent mate, Maxima. There are other heroes. Superman isn't the only one who believes in _justice_. On Earth, we have an entire Justice _League_."

They slashed, kicked, wrestled. Even pulled each other's hair. The _air_ caught fire around them in huge bulbous flashes. Hurricane winds raised roiling clouds of dust, sand, and soil from the ground below, rolling trees and rocks across the plains like tumbleweeds.

The fight took them higher and higher, until finally Diana got around behind her opponent. She had an arm wrapped around Maxima's throat and both legs wrapped around her waist. "Face it," Diana said. "You need to find _someone else_." They were upside-down, so she looked up at the ground. And sped towards it.

In the back of her mind she recalled that Clark had tried something like this with Doomsday, and it hadn't ended well.

"Like _who?_" Maxima asked, unperturbed by their impending collision with the surface below. "If you were in my place, and _needed_ an heir, who would _you_ choose?" Immediately she reached out, subtly, curiously, in the most non-hostile way possible, to read Diana's mind. And, to her delight, there _was_ an image there. More like a shadow.

"…Certainly not someone who was already _married_," Diana said, and with a gunshot-bang that echoed for a hundred miles, they slammed into the ground.

* * *

When Diana came to, she was crumpled at the bottom of a thirty-foot-deep crater. She looked around, and spotted Maxima standing nearby, one hand pressed to her chin in thought.

"…What happened?" Diana groaned, struggling to sit up.

"Oh, you won," Maxima said lightly. "And you gave yourself a concussion."

Diana winced as she touched the bump on her head. "I…won?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yes," Maxima said, and waved a hand at the remnants of her staff as evidence. "You're free to go. I'll open a portal for Superman—send him home to his wife. I won't pursue him anymore."

"You're… giving up?" Diana asked, confused.

Maxima smiled. "You were right," she said. "I need to find someone else. Actually, I've _found_ him. Even as we speak, my bounty hunters are cornering him."

"Wait." Something was wrong. Vaguely, Diana recalled something that had happened, when she was not-quite-conscious. "You—you read my mind!"

"It was an open book," Maxima confessed, shameless.

"So this _someone else_ that you've found—it isn't--"

"Of course it is. He's perfect. You know it's true."

Diana turned an angry shade of pink. "How dare you—"

Maxima shrugged. "What can I say? Earth heroes appeal to me. And _this_ one is truly special. You know, I've _heard_ of him before, but never gave him a second thought. Until now."

Diana was breathing a little faster. "He… he's only human," she warned.

But Maxima's eyes lit up. "Oh, he's _more_ than that," she said, with a little too much hungry emphasis on the '_more_.' "According to your own thoughts, he's a _human_ and yet a _rival_ to _Superman_. A rival! And," Maxima couldn't help but chuckle a little. "…he isn't married."

Diana looked away. She drew her knees up to her chest.

"No," she muttered sadly. "He isn't."

* * *

But Clark was. And the next thing he knew, he was standing in his own bedroom, in Metropolis, Lois blinking at him as if he'd just appeared out of thin air, which he had.

"—_wife_," Clark said, completing the sentence he'd been speaking when his mouth and brain had frozen up, back on Almerac.

Lois grinned. Clark was back. She didn't care how it had happened. He was dressed in some ridiculous long-sleeved toga-mumu, and, god, were those _flowers_? But he was back, and he was hers, and she was more than happy to play his little game.

"_Husband_," she answered, making it a challenge. She jumped into his arms.

"_Mmn?_" he asked, kissing her.

"_Mm-hmm_," she agreed with abundant enthusiasm, not breaking the kiss. And that was all that needed to be said.

...to be continued!

* * *

_Author's note: Aww, Clark and Lois!!! I'm happy now. But I have to be evil again, in the next (final!) chapter... oh, yes. The best/worst part is yet to come, hee hee hee!_

_anyway, what do you think? Now that I've included Wonder Woman in this story, does it belong over in the Justice League section?? I'll keep it here for now since it's mostly inspired by that "Warrior Queen" episode of S:TAS._


	4. Worse than Almost

_Author's note/warning: I nearly changed the rating to 'M' for this chapter… but I've decided that since very little cynicism is required to appreciate it, and no teenager would be scarred for life from reading it, it'll stay rated 'T' unless someone complains. Enjoy!

* * *

  
_

Chapter 4: Worse than Almost

_Irony, I feel, is a very high form of morality_. –Jean Stafford

An hour passed, the first minute hurried and the other 59 nice and slow. Still, things were a bit sweaty by the time Lois was finally just cuddled against his chest, the sheets pulled up around the both of them. Clark smoothed her hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear for her, which made her smile. A perfect, quiet moment passed, and then, at the exactly the same time, they both sighed.

"…What was that for?" Lois asked, at the very same time that Clark said, "What's on your mind?"

"You first," Lois said, snuggling in a little closer.

"Well…" he sighed again, and Lois couldn't help but smile to herself some more as his chest rose and fell beneath her cheek. "I know you're probably not going to let me apologize, but… I want to anyway."

Lois frowned. "Apologize for what?"

"For today. Earlier… I don't know how to tell you this, so I guess I'll just say it. I almost slept with her."

Lois rolled her eyes. "Then I suppose I'll _almost_ let you apologize, and I'll _almost_ forgive you."

"Thanks," he replied, and she could hear the smile in his voice. He adjusted his arms around her, waited patiently in the silence, and then cleared his throat a little. "Your turn," he said. "What were you thinking about?"

"oh, I was just thinking about the time."

"The _time_?" Clark asked, slightly taken aback. "Why? We're both off from work tomorrow, so…"

"Believe me, I've taken that into account," she informed him. "I was just thinking, that seeing how _round one_ took about one hour, _round two_ should take more like two."

Clark breathed in and closed his eyes, lifting his chin out of her way as her lips found their way to his collarbone. "…or three," she whispered in between kisses.

Clark raised his eyebrows. "You're the boss," he replied, and was nothing if not the happiest man on earth.

"I know," Lois said lovingly, sitting up slowly so that her hair fell over her shoulder. Once she was quite squarely straddling his waist, she casually flung her head to one side, flipping her hair around so it settled behind her. Clark loved the sight of that so much it made him want to float—and he might have let himself do just that, but at that moment—

The phone rang.

Lois and Clark just looked at each other.

The phone rang again.

"…Are you going to answer that?" Lois asked, smirking.

"Nope."

"_Hmm_," Lois said, stifling a giggle. She leaned down and was about to kiss him again, when, on the fourth ring of the phone, he _winced_. Lois frowned and sat back up. "Ugh, it's the Bat-phone, isn't it? You always make that face when it's the Bat-phone."

"Yeah, but—"

Lois was already climbing off of him. "Really. You should tell him to adjust the frequency so it stops hurting your ears."

"Lois, wait—"

She sighed, exasperated, and quickly kissed his forehead. "I'll be right back. He's probably just calling to make sure you got home okay." She slid off the bed, stood up. "I'm gonna get a glass of water. Want one?"

"Uh, no thanks," Clark said, undeniably bothered by the shrill beeping that only he could hear. Lois slipped out of the room, and Clark ground his back teeth together and reached for the phone.

He picked it up. "Batman-"

"_Why the hell didn't you answer my call?_" Bruce growl-shouted into Clark's ear. Clark winced again and held the phone out about a foot from his head. "I called your cell thirty minutes ago!"

Clark frowned, brought the phone a little closer to speak into it. "Sorry, Bruce, this isn't a good time—"

"I don't _care_ if it's a _good time_, I want to know why you ignored my call!"

Clark blinked a few times. "Okay… my cell phone? I remember now. My cell phone was in my jacket earlier today when all my clothes were vaporized by that… thing…"

"So it vaporized everything? Even your phone?"

"Yeah—I think so."

"_Wonderful_," Bruce grumbled. "I had just finished upgrading that belt."

Clark was confused. He shook his head a little, and looked up just in time to see Lois appear in the doorway, beautifully naked-- one shoulder leaning against the doorframe, sipping her glass of water and staring directly at him with a look of hungry amusement. "uh-- Look, Bruce, I'm gonna have to call you back," Clark said abruptly.

"_What?_" Bruce's growl was so deadly it gave Clark goosebumps. Or maybe that was from watching Lois silently creeping towards him, one graceful foot in front of the other.

"You _listen to me_, Clark, unless the world's ending right this instant, you WILL stay on the line," Bruce snarled through audibly clenched teeth. Lois set her glass on the nightstand, but instead of sliding back into bed as Clark had hoped she would, she moved a short distance across the room, leaving Clark at a loss, alone in the sheets.

"Where are you _right now?_" Bruce demanded.

"Home," Clark said, his eyes on Lois. She bent down; she was picking something up off the floor.

"_Earth?_"

"Of course. Metropolis. Oh…" The 'oh' was for Lois, who had retrieved one of those leis of red flowers from where they had been discarded in haste on the bedroom floor, and was currently in the act of draping it around her neck.

"Good enough," Bruce grumbled.

Now Lois was picking up a swath of abandoned red silk. She shook it out, raised one eyebrow at Clark, and then wrapped it loosely around her hips, tying it at one side.

Meanwhile, Bruce was growling away, relating something about signals and wavelengths and the Watchtower's matter converters but Clark wasn't listening. Instead, he was watching, mouth slightly open, as Lois raised both her arms to one side, stroked the air in little waving motions, and then slowly began to sway her hips, imitating a hula dance.

"Uhn—Bruce. I gotta go," Clark said, cutting him off.

"Don't you dare hang up, _Superman_, not after what you _did to me._" There was so much anger in his voice, it just _hurt_ to listen to him. Clark winced again at his tone, stared longingly at Lois for a minute, and then registered what Bruce had said.

"Wait-- what?" he narrowed his eyes and tried to focus on the phone call. "What _I_ did to you? What's going on?" Lois was at the edge of the bed now.

"What do you _think_ is going on?" Bruce seethed. "I'm trying to escape!"

"Escape from what?" Clark asked. Lois sighed and settled herself against the pillows beside him. Clark gave her a desperately apologetic look.

For other women, Lois supposed, hearing their husband ask Batman what he was escaping from would be something out of the ordinary. In her case, however…

"Don't _play_ with me, Clark. I _know_ this is your fault," threatened the voice from the phone.

Well, whatever Bruce's situation was, Lois decided she wasn't going to let it spoil her fun. Suddenly smirking, she wriggled down under the sheets, out of sight.

Fueled by anger, Bruce went on: "I bet I even know what you said to her: 'Gee, Maxima, I'm not too good at this stuff, mostly I'll just cry and want to cuddle for hours afterwards-- if you're looking for _a good time_, you should call _Batman_.' Just tell me if I'm wrong."

Under the sheets, Lois could still hear Bruce perfectly through the phone, and had to smother her laughter against Clark's stomach.

Clark blinked a few times, trying to make sense of Bruce's accusation. "You're wrong," he decided. Lois began gently dragging her nails down his sides, and he had to bite back a whimper.

"Then how'd you get home?" Bruce demanded.

"I don't know," Clark breathed. "Lois rescued me," he managed to conclude.

"Then maybe _Lois _can explain why _I'm_ a naked prisoner on an Almeraci ship!"

"Why you're a _what?_" Clark asked, confused again. Lois's fingernails were making their way down his thighs, now, with just enough pressure—she was good at this, she was _really_ good.

"_Prisoner._ On an Almeraci ship. _Naked_. Except for my cowl," Bruce grumbled, spelling it out.

"You're wearing your cowl?" Clark asked absently, somehow avoiding comprehension of Bruce's plight. Lois giggled, and shifted under the sheet in front of him.

"Did you just ask Bruce what he was wear—"

"No!" Clark exclaimed, blushing.

"Hmm," Lois giggled again, and then whispered, "You're delicious when you're embarrassed."

And with that she licked her lips --which Clark _saw _because he'd decided to cheat just a very little bit, using the slightest hint of x-ray vision to make the sheet transparent-- and as she pressed the first little kiss just south of his navel, Clark was severely tempted to throw the phone through the wall.

"_Obviously_ as a bounty-hunting tool it's programmed to leave the quarry intact from the neck up for identification purposes, since most sentient species rely on--" Bruce was explaining something again, but Clark wasn't paying him the least bit of attention. Instead, he was watching Lois through the sheet. Her shoulders, so perfect, her long legs, her knees pressing into the mattress, which seemed shamefully unnecessary since he could just _hold_ her up and—

"_Clark_." There was that horrible voice from the phone again. "Are you even listening?"

"No," he admitted.

Bruce was silent for a moment. And then he chuckled, in that dark, dangerous way that he did only when he was trapped and helpless but still in the mood to intimidate people. It was scary enough to make Clark shiver a little. Or maybe that was because of what Lois was doing with her tongue on his skin and her soft, wet little lips—

He swallowed, trying to focus. On what, he wasn't sure. Bruce was talking again.

"The only reason I'm not going to kill you…" Bruce growled.

"Batman doesn't kill people," Clark recited in a rush. It had finally dawned on him that Lois wasn't just teasing—she was about to start something that, under the circumstances, seemed incredibly inappropriate. "_Lois…_" he whispered, and reached for the side of her head, his fingers sliding through her hair—

"Clark, Clark, Clark," Bruce said slowly, distracting him. Lois was still partially eavesdropping on the phone call, and decided, mischievously, to play a little game.

"Clark, Clark, _Clark_," Lois echoed, huskily.

"Um," Clark said helplessly.

"For you, you know I'd make an exception," Bruce threatened.

"For you, you know I'd make…" Lois slid forward, kissed him again "…an _exception._"

Clark took a deep breath and closed his eyes, no longer willing to stop her from doing whatever she wanted to him.

"The only reason I'm not going to kill you is because the Earth might need you to fend off Lobo and his gang when Maxima throws her tantrum," Bruce was saying.

"Yes—ah—that's good," Clark half-whispered, a little deliriously and probably _not _in response to Bruce. He could _feel _everything—Lois's pulse through her fingertips, her _breath _on his skin—

Bruce seemed taken aback. "…I knew it," he muttered after a moment. "Maxima must have drugged you," he concluded. "That would explain why you're so disoriented. Let me talk to Lois."

Clark swallowed, opened his eyes, and dared to pull aside the sheet. He didn't want to have to cheat to see her anymore. Uncovered, Lois looked up at him, sly and so completely self-assured he knew he'd never stop adoring her. "Lois… can't talk right now," he said, strained.

Lois had to stop at that, and sat up, laughing. Clark gave her a desperate look.

"Whatever. Just stay on the line for two more minutes," Bruce growled. "I'm almost done configuring the trajectory."

"I'll configure _your _trajectory," Lois murmured, smirking, her eyes not leaving Clark's, and even though Clark really had no idea what she meant by that, it sounded _quite_ exciting. Except… he frowned, realizing that he had no idea what _Bruce_ had meant either.

"Wait a minute. Bruce—what are you talking about?"

"The _teleporter_. Like I _explained_ to you—I've hacked this ship's para-portation system and routed it through the Watchtower's matter converters. In two minutes I'll be able to teleport myself to your location."

Clark's eyebrows rose. "_My_ location?!" he asked, his voice a little higher than usual. Lois's mouth fell open in a classic 'uh-oh' expression.

"Didn't you hear a word I _said?_ I told you this already! I'm using the signal from your phone to—"

"Oh, right. Sorry-- I was kind of distracted. Lois was, um," he briefly recalled her little hula dance and realized there were no words for explaining how badly he wanted and needed her at that very moment. "Anyway," he went on, sounding just a bit more distressed, "did you have to call _here?_ Couldn't you have called Alfred?"

"_Alfred_ told me it 'served me right' and hung up on me," Bruce growled, furious. "And so did Nightwing. After he finished _laughing_."

Clark bit his lip. "That's terrible, Bruce, and believe me, I am really, really sorry about this, but—"

Bruce used his scariest voice. "_You wouldn't dare_."

Clark looked at Lois, made a face that was a silent plea for help. Lois smiled and graciously took the phone out of his hand. "Bye, Bruce," she said, and hung up.

Clark didn't waste another instant. Lois breathed in and suddenly his mouth was on her neck, his hands were on her back, and then her whole world was Clark and it delighted her to realize that for once he hadn't asked permission. She shut her eyes, settling into it, cooperating… "Oh my god, Clark," she muttered into his shoulder, a few minutes later. "I'm gonna have to get Bruce to call you more often."

"Is that so?" Clark asked, having regained a little of his cognitive ability now that so much seemed _right_ in the universe. "Well. Just you wait until I catch _you_ on the phone with _Lana_."

Lois gasped, feigning surprise that he could suggest something so naughty, and then she used the sultriest voice she could manage: "Why, Clark _Kent_. Are you actually plotting _revenge?_"

"Now now, Miss Lane," Clark protested in his most mildest-mannered voice. "You know me better than that."

She had to blink away happy tears then, because he'd just _won_ so completely that she couldn't even begrudge him the victory. And while she vaguely recalled saying something about two hours, she _knew_, more than anything, that two eternities wouldn't be enough. "Yes," she conceded in a whisper, her lips reaching for his. "I do."

* * *

Almerac. Bruce had never been there before. His first impression, once he found himself teleported into Maxima's throne room, was that it was a place of old and not-yet-faded glory. Crimson banners, ponderous columns, bold zig-zagging patterns reminiscent of a Navajo blanket in the cut stone floor. Golden light from tall lamps and even taller windows. Not enough shadows.

Fearing another decapitation, the guards fled as soon as they'd parked their prisoner in the center of the room.

Maxima herself appeared a few moments later, and was far too interested in inspecting her new acquisition to be troubled by the absence of the guards.

"Hmm…" she said, looking him up and down. Bruce stood with his feet spread and his shoulders hunched. "Tensed like a spring," Maxima observed, and not disapprovingly. Her eyes changed color several times. "Turn around," she instructed, sounding curious.

Instead, Bruce took a menacing step towards her, taking care not to touch the invisible wall of his cell. "Let me out of here," he growled.

Her eyes cooled a bit. "Defiance. I've destroyed men for less," she purred in a voice as smoothly dangerous as his was rough. She made a motion in the air, and the entire portal-cell lifted off the ground and began to rotate around.

"Hmmm…" Maxima said again as the spherical cell completed a full revolution. "But you are a _fragile _thing, aren't you?"

Bruce decided it was probably in his best interest to capitalize on that angle. "I hope my _friend_ Superman _bothered_ to warn you that I'm not exactly invulnerable," he cautioned.

"Superman?" Maxima cocked her head to one side. "Superman never mentioned you."

Bruce narrowed his eyes as his every assumption about his situation instantly dissolved.

"Anyway, I suppose I ought to provide you with some clothing. My scholars have done a little research on you, Bruce Wayne. They say you're the closest thing there is to 'American' royalty, so I believe _these _garments will suffice." She snapped her fingers, and Bruce felt sleeves crawl up his arms and pants unfurl down his legs, and before he knew it, he was dressed. His new outfit, he quickly discovered, even came with a cape.

Problem was, it was a _white _cape. The whole costume was white, and disturbingly… sparkly. And, the closer he inspected it, the more familiar it seemed, until suddenly it dawned on him. "American royalty," he grumbled. "I see."

Maxima turned her head. "What do you think, Diana? Does it suit him?"

And just then, Diana walked into the room, wearing a sleeveless white robe. Bruce did a double take before he recognized her; barefoot and with her hair in a ponytail over her shoulder, she seemed more…casual… than her usual shoulders-back, hands-on-hips appearance. She looked like Sunday morning.

Bruce was instantly wary and even more defensive. He was a prisoner on an alien world. Ostensibly, he was also the intended mate for an alien queen with an array of superhuman powers that he didn't fully comprehend. And for all his genius and skill as a detective, he could not fathom a single logical reason for _Wonder Woman_ to be involved, unless she'd already been dispatched by the League to _rescue_ him—which didn't seem likely, especially given her appearance and the noticeable lack of animosity between her and Maxima.

Her eyes flew straight to him and she turned bright red, trying her best not to laugh at the sight of Batman in an Elvis costume.

She cleared her throat. "Couldn't you just put him in his _regular_ clothes?" She asked nicely.

"I suppose could try," Maxima mused, and closed her eyes for a minute, borrowing Diana's clearest memories of what Batman's 'regular clothes' were like. A moment later, the loose white costume morphed into a skintight charcoal grey one, with gloves and boots and a very black cape. As a final touch, an elegant black bat symbol appeared on his chest, and a utility belt settled around his hips. He checked all the pouches right away. They were empty. He pressed his lips together, grim.

"There," Diana breathed a sigh of relief. "That's better." The red started to fade from her complexion, leaving just enough to keep her cheeks on the rosy side.

"Diana. What are you doing here?" Bruce asked gruffly, completely at home in his new costume and not wanting to waste any more time figuring out what was going on.

"Well," Diana began, and smiled, and looked over at Maxima.

"We've become friends," Maxima supplied, striding over to Diana and curling an arm around her shoulders. Diana reciprocated by wrapping her arm loosely about Maxima's waist in a brief embrace. Bruce looked at them in disbelief. Side by side, they were practically identical until you got to their faces and their hair and eye color. Maxima stood about three inches taller at the moment, but was wearing boots with three-inch-tall heels. Diana's smile, he hated to admit, seemed too genuine to have been put there through mind control. But he still couldn't rule it out completely.

Diana caught Bruce's expression and realized she owed him an explanation.

"Once I understood Maxima's situation, I decided to stay and help," she said, and Bruce immediately wondered if she had any idea what sort of questionable images that statement conjured up in his mind. _Help_ with what, exactly?

"_Stay_??" he asked.

"Yes. You see, earlier today, I came here on Lois's behalf, to fight Maxima for Superman, and--"

"Wait. You fought for _Superman_ but you're not going to fight for me?" Bruce asked, more than a little anger rumbling out through his voice.

"Bruce, calm down. Superman's _wife _wanted him back."

"But there's no one to want _me _back. Ah, it makes so much sense now. _Perfect_."

Diana frowned at him. "You aren't pleasant when you're sarcastic," she admonished.

"I'm generally not _pleasant_ when I've been _abducted_," Bruce countered.

The women traded glances. "…Let's take this conversation somewhere more comfortable," Maxima suggested.

"Good idea," Diana agreed. "He's being difficult because he's confused. But I'm sure we'll be able to make him understand."

"Does he always _smell_ that way?" Maxima asked.

"No… not always." She looked up at Bruce, blinked her big blue eyes. "What were you doing when they captured you?" she inquired.

"My job!" Bruce growled. He'd been in the middle of a knife fight with some bums in a subway tunnel, actually. The sweat had dried hours ago, but still…

Diana looked back at Maxima and spoke with absolute certainty.

"He needs a bath."

* * *

And so, that was how Bruce Wayne ended up approximately where he had started, up to his neck in hot water and hating the fact that it felt so good. Only now he was also hating the fact that he was Maxima's prisoner, and that Wonder Woman didn't seem to have the slightest intention of helping him escape. She and her newfound 'friend' were sitting on the far edge of the bath, their feet in the water. Maxima had changed her own clothes with a swish of her hand and was now wearing the same sort of robe as Diana.

Neither woman seemed to appreciate how unfair it was that he'd been stripped of his costume just as quickly as he'd been clothed in it. He glared at them, sulking, trying to formulate some kind of plan.

"You poor creature," Maxima murmured, her eyes running down Bruce's arms. "Shall I heal some of those old scars for you?"

"No," Bruce grunted. "I need them."

"What for?" Maxima asked.

"To remind me that there's a price for mistakes."

Maxima's eyes swirled to molten gold. "A fascinating philosophy. You have a true warrior's soul."

Diana decided this was as good a time as any to bring up the delicate subject of what Maxima needed from him. "Bruce," she began diplomatically, "I know you don't appreciate being taken away from your mission, but won't you consider—"

"I can't believe you're on her side," Bruce said, his voice cold.

Diana was undeterred. "Try to understand. She's thinking of the future. For her people. And it's not like it would be very difficult for you to—"

"Define _difficult_." Bruce grit his teeth. "She isn't some bimbo looking for a war story to share at the spa. Look at her. She's a monster."

Diana looked at Maxima with renewed interest, while the 'monster' herself stared at Bruce with ominously brightening eyes.

"You _say_ that, yet there is no _fear_ in you," Maxima mused. "How very…_attractive_." She leaned forward, staring at him, and something about the shift of her shoulders called to mind a lioness in mid-stalk."I shall enjoy you," she decided, in the same tone of voice she might have used to say 'I shall have tea'.

"I'm sure you _will_," Bruce promised darkly, his voice giving Diana goosebumps. "But that's not what this is about, is it? You want a child. I _don't_. And no matter what you've heard about me, I've never gotten _anyone_ pregnant."

"I can tell there isn't a biological reason for that." Maxima smirked at him. "You've just been careful. And _clever_. But you won't be able to _fake _anything with _me_, I assure you."

"Which is why I don't want to _do_ anything with you," Bruce replied in earnest. "I won't father a child only to abandon it."

"_I _will be solely responsible for the child," Maxima stated, making it clear that it was a non-negotiable fact.

Bruce shook his head. "_If_ I had a child, there's no way I would leave him to be raised by some alien tyrant that I barely even know."

Diana and Maxima blink-blinked at him as if he'd suddenly started speaking another language. Then they looked at each other, wide-eyed and amused, and Bruce was instantly infuriated because they knew something he didn't.

Maxima did that thing with her shoulders again. "The _child _will be female," she informed him, in regal confidence.

"Does that change your mind?" Diana asked, completely straightforward.

"Of course not. _Children_ deserve to be raised by their _parents_. I wouldn't want my _daughter _to grow up without her father. It would be wrong."

"Why?" Diana asked, openly curious. "_I _grew up without a father."

"As did I," Maxima said.

Bruce grit his teeth.

"Think of it, Bruce," Diana encouraged, resting her elbows on her knees. "Your beautiful little daughter, growing up as an Almeraci princess…"

Bruce's eye twitched a bit. Of course, _his_ daughter, if he ever had one, would be a _princess_ no matter _where _she grew up. But what really caught his attention was the unmistakable _wistfulness_ in Diana's tone.

"She'll be a strong little girl, with your blue eyes and a fierce temper," she was saying, smiling. Bruce got the impression that it wasn't the first time that Diana had fantasized about this little girl, and he was taken aback by a quiet, unexpected ache for the possibility of what might have been, if only things were different.

"And one day she'll assume the throne as the ruler of Almerac," Maxima added, bringing Bruce back to reality.

"That's another thing," he growled. "I'm not convinced this _Almerac_ of yours is fit for children at all. From what I know of it, it's full of violence."

"The _multiverse_ is full of violence," Maxima reminded him. "But don't forget, as my descendent, our daughter will be as powerful as I am."

Bruce chewed on the corner of his lip. Knowing that his daughter would be innately protected by some degree of invulnerability…

"What about Lobo?" he remembered suddenly. "Superman said you're married to that maniac. And I wouldn't want _him_ within a hundred light-years of her."

"Lobo holds legal status as my consort," Maxima stated. "But he's just my slave. In my presence, he is a lovesick puppy. And I keep him on a very short leash—but, if it will ease your mind, I will not hesitate to exile him from Almerac forever."

"I don't know, Maxima. You still seem too ruthless to be much of a mother."

Instead of seething with rage at that comment, she looked flattered. "I make no apologies for the traditions of my race." Her eyes turned orange, like distant flame. "I will raise my daughter to be fearless and _just_," Maxima said solemnly. "She will lead her people with courage and wisdom. And when I tell her the story of her father, she will be proud that she shares your blood."

"Are you convinced?" Diana asked, looking at him fondly.

Bruce looked at them both and spoke with a cast iron voice.

"No."

The women traded glances again.

Then Diana stretched her arms in front of her, fingers interlaced, palms out. "Mmh," she said, slowly shaking her head. She smiled at Bruce again, eyes twinkling. "Let's see how you feel after a backrub."

* * *

When Bruce finally made it home, Alfred Pennyworth and Dick Grayson were lighting up cigars.

"Welcome back, sir," Alfred said, his voice full of a certain starched joy. "And, congratulations."

Dick beamed at Bruce. Bruce glowered at the world. "We hear it's a girl," Dick said brightly, clapping Bruce on the back.

"Grrmph," Bruce grrmphed, and stalked away to his cave.

* * *

"…I see your timing is as wonderful as ever," Bruce muttered without looking up. "You've managed to show up again _exactly_ when I don't want you here."

"Alfred says you're depressed," Clark said, as that pretty much explained the reason for his presence.

It was a few days later, and Clark was hovering obnoxiously in the background as Bruce was trying to work. The tiny piece of the Mad Hatter's circuitry under the microscope suddenly cracked apart, and Bruce pushed his chair back from his workbench in frustration.

"I'm _fine_," he asserted, shoulders hunched.

"Look, Bruce, if you're angry because of what happened--"

"I'm not."

"But you called us for help and, well, we didn't take you seriously," Clark reminded him.

"Hmf. Don't worry about it. I figured out what _you_ were so preoccupied with about three seconds after you hung up."

Clark turned a bit pink, and he cleared his throat. "Well, it doesn't change the fact that we all ignored you when you needed us."

"It's _all right_, Clark. It wasn't a big deal. I can take care of myself."

Clark sighed. "We just want you to know that we're sorry."

"Alfred's not sorry."

"But he _is_ worried about you. And he wants you to know that he loves you."

Bruce blinked, and then looked up at Clark, as if debating whether or not to say something.

"We _all_ love you," Clark said.

Bruce stared up at him for another few seconds, and then turned abruptly to rifle through a drawer. "She's going to name her after Lois," Bruce grumbled.

"…What?"

"Maxima. She told me. She's going to name her daughter _Lois_."

Clark laughed. "Really?"

"Something about how much she admires the woman who's earned the devotion of the one man Maxima herself couldn't have."

"Wow."

"I'll never meet her," Bruce said into the drawer.

"Don't be too sure. In twenty years or so she might show up and try to conquer the Earth or something."

Bruce grit his teeth. "That isn't funny."

The darkness in his voice made Clark frown. He landed silently on the floor, stood for a moment beside Bruce's chair. Bruce didn't move.

"…Can I tell you something?"

The question sank like ink, spreading through the emptiness of the cave, and Clark did a triple-take. Had Bruce actually just asked him that?

"Sure," he answered.

"I'm jealous of you."

Clark raised his eyebrows. "Trust me, Bruce, _I_ wish you were bulletproof probably more than you do."

"It's not that," Bruce said. "It's what you have with Lois. I'm still not as happy as everyone else seems to be about what happened with Maxima, but I am glad it was _me _instead of you. Because what you have with Lois is important. It's something special."

Clark was speechless. How could he tell Bruce how much that meant to him? He wished from the bottom of his heart that Bruce would someday find a happy ending… but that didn't take away from how thankful he was for Bruce at that very moment.

Bruce almost smiled then, which proved that he understood everything that Clark didn't know how to say.

"All right," he said gruffly, picking up the tiny glass slide with the broken circuit on it. "Are you done cheering me up now? Because if you're going to stick around any longer, you might as well help me figure out how to fix this."

Clark took the slide as Bruce handed it to him. This was one of those times, Clark realized, when he had managed to show up _exactly_ when Bruce needed him there. And he was definitely going to stick around.

Side by side, they got to work.

The End!


End file.
